


You're Perfect

by meridian_rose (meridianrose)



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Asexual Aziraphale (Good Omens), Asexual Relationship, Aziraphale's soft tummy, Bathing/Washing, Belly Kink, Belly buttons, Body Worship, Declarations Of Love, Explicit Consent, Fluff, Foot Massage, Hair Brushing, Hugs, Kink Exploration, Kink Negotiation, Kissing, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, No Sex, Romance, Sharing a Bed, Slow Dancing, Soft Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Trust, Wing Grooming, nonsexual intimacy, physical intimacy (nonsexual)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-12
Updated: 2019-10-12
Packaged: 2020-12-09 19:15:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20999951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meridianrose/pseuds/meridian_rose
Summary: Slowly and carefully they explore physical intimacies from hair brushing to wing grooming to Crowley worshipping Aziraphale's body as much as the angel will consent to.





	You're Perfect

**Author's Note:**

> This is out of my comfort zone. It's fluff, for one thing, and there's exploration of kinks and intimacy – though no sex – and there's no plot. It's almost stream of consciousness in the first half. But I hope someone reading enjoys it anyway!

They were still finding their way, slowly, carefully.

Sitting on the sofa, Crowley with one arm draped over Aziraphale's shoulder. Knees touching. Aziraphale putting on hand on Crowley's knee.

Holding hands. Hugging. Hair brushing – Aziraphale brushing Crowley's hair which gets suspiciously longer each time he does it, admiring the shine of the auburn locks as he pulls the brush along them. Crowley preferring to just run his fingers through Aziraphale's short, fair curls, teasing them to sit just-so around his face.

Small steps, gentle and cautious, neither wanting to spook the other.

Tighter hugs, hands reaching up to clasp the nape of the neck beneath the hair, a soft and vulnerable spot. Hands reaching down to rest on waists.

Kissing. Crowley first lifted Aziraphale's hand and brushed his lips against his knuckles, making Aziraphale blush with pleasure. Next was a kiss to Aziraphale's palm. Then Aziraphale cupping Crowley's chin and kissing his forehead. Cheek kisses.

Their lips meet and it's fine but then Crowley is pushing hard, tongue seeking entrance to Aziraphale's mouth, a kiss that's too much and too deep. Aziraphale shoves at him and Crowley stops, backs away.

"I'm sorry." He won't meet Aziraphale's eyes, staring out of the window, and he's afraid he's ruined everything, Aziraphale can feel the tension in the room.

"It's fine. I just can't. Not like that. Not...so much." Aziraphale leaves the room to give them both some space. He makes tea and when he returns and puts the tea tray down he comes to stand behind Crowley. Puts one arm around Crowley's waist and leans his head on Crowley's shoulder to show him touching is still fine, this is good; he's pleased when he feels Crowley relax, melting into his embrace.

"Let's waltz," Crowley murmurs.

"I don't know how."

"I'll show you."

Dancing is something Aziraphale soon develops a renewed appreciation for. The waltaz is a dance once thought scandalous for the closeness and physical contact it involves. It becomes his new favourite, especially when Crowley lets him lead.

More hugs. Hands roaming over each other bodies.Aziraphale isn't entirely sure he likes it when Crowley grasps his buttocks. He finds he does however enjoy it when Crowley gives his behind a playful smack.

Crowley feeding Aziraphale, letting his lips slide slowly off the fork in an almost sinful way.

Aziraphale braiding Crowley's hair, now almost shoulder length.

Mutual wing grooming. Humans can never understand the intimacy nor the pleasure this brings. Aziraphale shivers in delight as Crowley tends to every feather, and Crowley hisses with pleasure when Aziraphale grooms him with equal care.

Crowley, in his snake form, curled up on Aziraphale's lap, tail wound around one wrist.

"Wash my back?" Crowley asks, pulling off his shirt while the bath runs. Aziraphale nods, turns away briefly, not quite ready to see a fully naked Crowley. But once Crowley is under the myriad bubbles he takes great pleasure in soaping and rinsing Crowley's back and shoulders. The horror of the holy water bath meant for Crowley is diminished, unable to truly compete with this declaration of trust and affection.

The next time he washes the auburn hair too. He's not ready to join Crowley in the bath, though Crowley does mention there's room for two in the tub.

Sharing a bed, first with them both in pyjamas that Aziraphale miracles up, ones Crowley snorts at and calls Victorian. Gradually as Aziraphale becomes more comfortable, while he still wears both a top and trousers, Crowley just wears boxers.

"Come on, angel," Crowley purrs one night as Aziraphale is sitting up reading and Crowley is lying alongside him, idly running one hand up and down the covers over Aziraphale's legs. "Please let me see you."

"See me?" Aziraphale puts the book aside. "You can see me perfectly well."

Crowley's fingers tug at the top button of the fluffy pyjama top.

"Ah," Aziraphale says. "Well. Maybe...just one." He slides the button from its fastening.

But Crowley stares at him with such adoration in his golden eyes that one button becomes two, then three. When Aziraphale stops, blushing again, Crowley strokes a fingertip down the exposed chest.

"You are so lovely," he says. He slides another button free and Aziraphale doesn't protest. 

"Lie down," Crowley says.

"Why?"

"So I can admire you," Crowley says. "Touch you. Caress you. Love you."

Seeing Aziraphale's hesitation, Crowley promises, "I'll stop if you say so."

So Aziraphale wriggles down and rests his head on the pillow and Crowley shifts position, kneeling astride him.

"You are perfect," Crowley says in a hushed tone. He kisses Aziraphale's forehand. He kisses his lips, softly, almost chastely. His lips press against Aziraphale's throat, painting his way down to the exposed chest.

When Crowley stops, Aziraphale waits a moment before he realises Crowley is waiting for his permission. "Go on," he urges.

Crowley's hands and fingers explore Aziraphale's chest, a flick of one nipple with a thumb, a flash of a forked tongue against the other. Crowley presses a long kiss over Aziraphale's heart. Humans think of the heart as the seat of love but it is only metaphorically so. love is in the mind and, Aziraphale believes, in the soul. Nonetheless the gesture is appreciated.

Crowley pops open another button. Aziraphale stares at the ceiling and Crowley stops, sensing his hesitation.

"Zira? Do you want me to stop?"

Aziraphale shakes his head. "No. It's just...are you sure you want to see all of me?"

"Yes! Of course."

"But I'm...I'm soft. Gabriel-"

Crowley gives a hiss. "Do not mention that name, especially not here, not now. Anything that asshole ever said, forget it. I'm here. And I love you. Exactly as you are. Especially as you are."

"Oh." Aziraphale has seen posters of muscle bound men, magazine covers showing men with "six-packs" and "eight-packs", seen advertisements – usually when Crowley's drifted off to sleep after a movie - where the ideal body can be gained through a particular exercise regimen using expensive equipment you should buy now. The ideal body is toned, sleek. He is not toned.

Crowley unbuttons the last two buttons, folding the now fully open pyjama top aside, exposing Aziraphale as if carefully removing the packaging from a delicate object. 

Crowley presses more kisses to Aziraphale's torso. He runs his hands over the soft flesh, giving a soft chuckle of delight. He flicks his tongue against the taut navel and Aziraphale gasps in pleasure.

"You are perfect," Crowley says again, and then he's caressing and kissing again.

"Stop," Aziraphale mumbles faintly as Crowley's hands dip well below the waistband of his pyjamas.

Crowley does so as once. "Can I just..." And he's running his hands over the pyjamas, along every inch of the outside of Aziraphale's leg and that's fine. "And..."

From the ankle, up against the inner leg now, past the knee, slowing as Aziraphale tenses, stopping before the groin.

Then Crowley disappears beneath the covers, and he's massaging Aziraphale's feet, heel and sole and every toe and it's heavenly.

"Oh, Crowley," Aziraphale says in delight. "If I did not know better I would say you are a miracle worker!"

Crowley returns to lie alongside him, one hand resting on Aziraphale's hip. "I'm just tempting you into as many pleasures of the flesh I can."

"And what do you want from me?" Aziraphale asks, worried it might be something he doesn't want to give. "How can I please you?"

"This pleases me," Crowley says. "Everything you let me do, pleases me."

He shuffles closer, rests his head on Aziraphale's tummy. "It's like lying on a cloud," he says in delight, closing his eyes.

"Clouds don't work that way," Aziraphale chides, stroking his hand through Crowley's hair.

"Hmm."

This, Aziraphale knows, this is something he will let Crowley do as often as he wants.

Maybe tomorrow he'll join Crowley in the bath.


End file.
